I have always been a fair weather person.

Fine with pushing through quick sprints of rain.

But the season of winter feels like it could be the death of me.

Blankets only insulated what heat I already have.

The wind steals what little I already have.

Taking it in order to paint the clouds on the horizon.

***

I cannot take it.

Tolerance has nothing to do with it.

My season lasts so much longer than others.

They are back out in shorts before my last leaf has even fallen.

It feels almost mocking.

Making me doubt the temperature I feel.

***

There is a stage of cold beyond numbness.

You probably know what I am talking about.

The stabbing, stinging pain.

Far beyond what should be possible.

A lack of what brings life.

Emptiness that I pray to never feel again.